Cocking her head from side to side, hoping for an angle she’d like, Lara recalled the small stack of photographs she’d clipped from bridal magazines as a little girl. She and her friends would grab last year’s dog-eared copies of Modern Bride from the waiting areas of the hair salons while their mothers got their perms and double processes. When no one was looking, they’d slide the old magazines into book bags, poring over them later in their bedrooms, each girl tearing out the pages of silk, taffeta, and tulle creations that they liked best. Lara had actually kept a few of the pages over the years and pruned them down to this one dress style, now reflecting back at her in the mirror. She sighed. No dress could possibly shoulder such expectation. But this one was too mature and vintage, more like a costume than a wedding gown.
Turning around, Lara strained to hear if her mother was on her way back upstairs. The hall was silent. She smiled. Studying her reflection, Lara began wishing the dress was fuller in the train, less formfitting through the thighs. Tugging on it, she concentrated hard, and the fabric gave way and blossomed, like a time-lapse video of flowers blooming, folds of fabric bursting then tumbling down and arranging themselves before her.
“There,” she said, and the fabric obeyed. “A little less.” The fabric swirled as though it were alive, rustling and shifting to please her. “Perfect.” She turned, watching it retract until she said, “Stop.”
Lara spun in front of the mirror, admiring the way the fabric moved. Next she focused on the color. “A little lighter, more ivory, less platinum.” Like a TV screen adjusting its brightness, the silver tones of the dress warmed to a pure-ivory hue. “Much better.” She considered the sleeveless bodice for October. “Maybe sleeves?” She could feel the dress hesitate, like it was bubbling, unsure of her direction. “Lace sleeves,” she clarified. Instantly the dress obeyed like a courteous bellman, creating ornate lace patterns along her arm as though the seams were being stitched together by the singing birds in Disney cartoons.
“Lara Barnes, what are you doing?” Her mother stood behind her with one hand on her hip and the other holding an elaborate twenty-strand pearl choker. In the center of the choker was a large Victorian diamond brooch.
“I didn’t like it.” Her voice was defensive. She smoothed the new skirt like it was an obedient pet, letting the dress know that she was done with alterations.
“Then you go to a store and buy another one. You can’t simply enchant a dress, Lara.”
“Apparently I can.” Lara spun to face her mother, her eyebrow cocked. “We really didn’t need to alter it. I do a better job.”
“The sleeves are all wrong.” Audrey Barnes frowned and ran her hand through her butter-colored bob. “Turn around,” she said, gesturing with her hand. “You’ll get nervous at the ceremony and the enchantment will wane. You mark my words. This is dangerous business.”
“If the spell wears off, you can keep the dress together for me.”
“As if I don’t have enough to worry about.”
Her mother was the superior spell caster, even if she hated using her magic. She handed the choker to Lara and turned her attention to the enchanted wedding gown. Audrey ran her hands over the lace sleeves, and they softened to a flowing chiffon under her touch. Unlike Lara, her mother didn’t have to tell the dress what to do; it read her mind. Audrey returned the platinum beading to its original color but then seemed to change her mind, and it shifted to a softer embroidery pattern. “There,” she said. “You need texture to contrast with the sleeves.” The finished effect was an ivory dress with platinum detailing at the bodice, ivory sleeves, and a matching full skirt. “It’s much more romantic.”
Lara studied the changes in the mirror, pleased. “You should enchant dresses more often, Mother.”
Audrey scowled. Taking the necklace from Lara, she fastened it around her daughter’s neck.
Lara touched the choker, admiring it. “Where have you been keeping this bauble?”
“It was Cecile’s,” said Audrey, referring to Lara’s great-grandmother.
Lara thought it looked familiar. “Have you worn this before?”
“No,” said her mother, admiring her alterations to the dress, tugging here and there and shifting the hue and fit under her hands. “You’ve seen it, though. She’s wearing it in the painting.”
She’d passed the painting of her great-grandmother Cecile Cabot that hung in the hallway hundreds of times but never really stopped to study it. Lara tried to recall the choker.
“It belonged to her mother.”
“I didn’t know that.” Lara touched the delicate strands, wondering how she’d never found this in her childhood raids on her mother’s jewelry box.
“They say she was quite famous.” Audrey smiled, spinning Lara around. “You look beautiful in it. And I do like the changes to the dress, but you can’t risk getting caught.”
“I’m in my room. Who is going to catch me but you?”
“You can’t take risks with magic, Lara. People don’t understand. What would happen if that dress began to unwind in the middle of your vows?”
“What you mean is that Todd won’t understand.” She folded her arms.
“Listen to me,” said Audrey. “There are some secrets that you must keep—even from Todd. This is one of them.”
Lara knew that her mother had always wanted them to be “normal.” Instead they were the Cabots—the famous and strange circus family—former owners of Le Cirque Margot. Circus families were rarely normal. As a kid, Audrey had worked the horses in the summers, becoming an expert trick rider, but she’d hated performing for crowds and made it clear that she wanted no part of her family legacy. Instead the young girl had taken the Lippitt Morgan horses from the act and had begun breeding them, turning Cabot Farms into one of the most successful horse breeders in the South. Unable to compete with television, Le Cirque Margot came upon hard times and low attendance,
